


Moments of Calm

by iridiumring92



Category: Persona 5
Genre: ...because it's sojiro, First Kiss, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mid-Game, akira is distracted, ann is on to them, the phantom thieves are between targets, yusuke paints a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridiumring92/pseuds/iridiumring92
Summary: He reaches out to Yusuke, frames his face with one hand, strokes his cheekbone with a thumb, softly. As if Yusuke is the true work of art and time has stopped in Akira’s admiration.Yusuke starts visiting Leblanc. Akira still can't seem to ignore how beautiful he is.





	Moments of Calm

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh man I wrote this so long ago. I really just wanted to express my love for this ship.
> 
> there are references to scenes from the game in here, because they inspired me. ;)

“You look magnificent,” Yusuke says on one of those July evenings, when Sojiro’s gone out and Akira’s working behind the counter at Leblanc.

Akira takes it in stride, though he feels like he’s holding his breath. He makes them both coffee and sets the two cups down. They sit across from each other in chairs borrowed from the counter and waste the evening talking, and once, Akira lets his knee bump against Yusuke’s. He pretends not to notice the way Yusuke blushes.

Yusuke insists on walking to the station before it gets too late. Akira offers to let him stay the night, but he refuses politely, his cheeks still faintly flushed.

 

* * *

 

One night at Leblanc, Yusuke _paints._

He’s brought his supplies over in several trips. Canvas, easel, brushes. He sets a chair in front of everything that night as Akira’s closing the café. One moment he’s collecting everything he’s brought, and the next, he’s painting, looking intently between the canvas and the rest of the café.

Akira has no idea how long Yusuke’s been working, and he hesitates. Probably shouldn’t say anything, shouldn’t interrupt. He returns to the kitchen.

A while later, when Akira finishes working and moves to take off his apron, Yusuke says, “Wait.”

Akira waits. Yusuke watches him, his gaze intense and unrelenting, his eyes moving over every line of Akira’s body. Akira _feels_ this. He’s sure his face is close to an embarrassing shade of red. Yet Yusuke is so deep into his work that he doesn’t notice a thing, and Akira . . . Well.

He finds something about that extraordinarily attractive.

Yusuke turns back to his painting without another word, without even another glance. Akira shifts, his back to Yusuke, as he slips off the apron. He gets the sensation that he’s undressing—which he _is,_ but the moment feels way more intimate than it needs to. Still, when he peeks over his shoulder, Yusuke’s eyes are fixed on his canvas, his brush moving in smooth, languid strokes.

Sojiro really shouldn’t leave them alone together.

 

* * *

 

Yusuke insists that Akira not see his work. Not for several days. He shows up at Leblanc nearly every afternoon to paint, and while sometimes he talks to Sojiro or Akira, most of the time he takes up a chair in the back and loses himself in his work completely.

Akira brings him coffee. The first few times, Yusuke barely acknowledges this, but after a while, he comes out of his trance to look up at Akira and thank him.

His eyes are twin oceans, the depth beyond them staggering. There is something like loss, something like longing in them. It’s as if he isn’t fully there, but also as if he cannot seem to shroud his emotions.

“Thank you,” he says softly, and the words hold a peculiar weight.

Akira nods and moves away. He aches to make sense of this, but he doesn’t know how. The moment fell upon them with such force that he can’t see past the impact. He presses a hand to his forehead, trying to shake off the echo of it.

Yusuke himself is unfathomable. Akira, strangely, longs to understand.

 

* * *

 

On one of those quiet nights, Yusuke finishes painting. Still, he covers the canvas with a cloth, murmuring something about waiting until tomorrow to show it to anyone.

He trips over a chair on the way out. Akira grabs his elbow and pulls him back before he can leave Leblanc.

“What . . . ?” Yusuke murmurs. The exhaustion in his eyes and voice is all too clear. He hasn’t slept at Leblanc since that first night, when he declared he was moving out of the school dorms, but that means Akira doesn’t know if he’s slept at all. Once Yusuke claimed the dorms were chaotic, and Akira doubts that’s changed. Knowing Yusuke, he probably lies awake all night thinking.

“You need sleep,” Akira says.

“No, I’m . . . fine.” But the opposite shows in his eyes, in the shadows under them. Akira shifts his hand to Yusuke’s shoulder, his thumb drawing a slow circle over the fabric of his shirt, and Yusuke sighs. “I haven’t slept in two days. . . .”

“Why?” Akira asks, letting his hand slide over Yusuke’s back, between his shoulder blades. His fingertips are tingling. He shouldn’t be doing this, but—

“I’ve been so intent on finishing this piece,” Yusuke says. “I’ve done nothing but think about it. I’m—I’m so tired.” He closes his eyes, leaning into Akira’s touch. Whether it’s because he likes it or because he can’t hold himself up any longer, Akira doesn’t know. He doesn’t hesitate to say what comes to his mind next, although he didn’t think it would happen quite like this.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

He guides Yusuke upstairs, directs him to the futon on the far wall. Yusuke sighs a thank-you and collapses onto it. He goes still almost immediately, his breathing slowly evening out.

Akira stands there a moment.

He lowers himself onto the futon beside Yusuke, slips a tentative arm around his waist.

Yusuke murmurs something, unintelligible but low and approving, and Akira moves closer. He tucks Yusuke’s head under his chin, threads fingers through his straight dark hair. His warmth— _their_ warmth—is intoxicating. He feels drowsy already, though just a few minutes ago, with his fingers tracing the ridges of Yusuke’s spine, his heart had raced.

Akira considers.

What would it feel like, being with Yusuke? What would the others think? Ah. This is where he stops, every time. He can already picture Ryuji’s reaction. _What? You and Kitagawa? Man, I didn’t know you were into that._ He can see Ann’s surprise, Makoto—no, she’d probably know long before they said anything. Besides, Morgana, Sojiro . . . No. He doesn’t even want to think about the consequences of letting Sojiro find out. Christ, it’d be an absolute mess.

Yet he comes back to these same thoughts every night, as he’s staring at the ceiling.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Akira wakes alone. It’s Sunday. It’s also nearly noon. He can hear Sojiro downstairs—how long until he shouts up the stairs asking for Akira’s help? He wonders if Yusuke left, stealthily, before Sojiro came in. The other side of the futon is cold, compared with last night. It’s as if Yusuke was never there in the first place. Akira groans and pushes himself into a sitting position.

“Morning,” Morgana says from one of the shelves across from him. “Are you sure you were asleep? I thought you might’ve gone into a coma.” Akira waves a hand in dismissal.

There’s a note on the windowsill, held down by a couple of paintbrushes. Akira slips it into his hand and unfolds it. He has no doubt about the note’s author—the handwriting is an artist’s, curving across the sheet of paper almost effortlessly. _I’m sorry to leave you so soon, but I couldn’t risk running into Sakura-san. Thank you for letting me stay here last night. Yusuke._

It’s infuriatingly formal, and shows no sign at all that they shared not only Akira’s room but also Akira’s futon. But then again, Akira thinks, maybe that’s the point. If Yusuke had written _Thank you for letting me share your bed,_ and someone like Sojiro intercepted it, Akira would probably be excommunicated from Leblanc. And maybe all of Yongen.

He folds the note into the smallest square he can manage and drops it into the wastebasket. Still barely awake, he stretches his arms over his head and then drops back down onto the edge of the futon. Morgana watches him from across the room.

“So Yusuke was here last night?”

Akira slides a hand through his hair. “What’s it to you?”

“I just saw you two go upstairs together and thought I’d stay out of it,” Morgana says with sort of a smug look.

“It’s not like I seduced him,” Akira says, rolling his eyes.

“You sure?”

“Can’t you go on reconnaissance at night or something? Whatever happens between Yusuke and me is kind of our business.”

“Oh. So that’s how it is,” Morgana says with a grin.

Sojiro calls up to him a few minutes later, when Morgana’s taken to sitting on the windowsill and Akira’s just barely finished dressing. He rubs his hands over his face and puts his glasses on before heading downstairs. He needs coffee. He needs to stop thinking about Yusuke.

He checks his phone one too many times, and Sojiro snaps at him. There’s no word from Yusuke. Then again, maybe Akira’s supposed to text him first. Is that how it works? He slides his phone back into his pocket and tries to concentrate.

Yusuke’s painting still stands in the corner, completely covered up. He didn’t even take it with him last night. Akira remembers that long look Yusuke once gave him while he worked. Did he paint Leblanc? More importantly, did he paint _Akira?_

Sojiro goes into the back room to look for something, and Akira pulls his phone out again to send Yusuke a quick text.

_How’s your morning? Did you make it back okay?_

He slips his phone out of sight and focuses on working for the next hour, even when he feels the device vibrate and suspects that Yusuke’s replied to his message. When Sojiro lets him go for the afternoon, he slips out into the streets gratefully.

He walks all the way to the station before he checks his phone, finding Yusuke’s response at the top of his list of messages.

_I did, thank you. I am working on a few projects at the moment. I’d like to bring them over to Leblanc to ask you your opinion sometime._

Akira smiles.

“Ooh, are you going to invite him over again?” Morgana asks from his shoulder.

“Don’t read my messages,” Akira says, keeping his voice low so that no one nearby will hear him.

“You’re no fun.”

But Morgana disappears back into his bag. The subway arrives, and Akira steps on, seeking out a place to sit. Despite the fact that it’s Sunday and getting late, most of the seats and a lot of the standing room is taken by the time the doors close. Akira sends a reply to Yusuke.

_I’d be interested to see them. Just let me know._

He hesitates before deciding to send another message.

_I’ll be in Shibuya tonight._

They make it to the station before he gets a response, and he walks out into the square, still busy as always. The bookstore is open, as is the convenience store, and Akira takes his time in both of them, Morgana commenting on his purchases. In an aisle of the convenience store, he finally feels his phone buzz again.

_I’m busy. My apologies, Akira. I would meet you if I could._

Akira ignores the surge of disappointment that washes over him. He’ll see Yusuke at Leblanc soon, after all. But somehow the thought of meeting him here, in Shibuya, with darkness falling and all these people around them . . .

He wants Yusuke. He can’t quite admit it to himself yet, but he feels the lingering warmth in his veins, running alongside the electric current he feels from being among all these people, in Shibuya, as it’s getting dark. One of these days he’ll—he’ll figure something out.

Even Joker can’t have a plan all the time.

 

* * *

 

They’re in between targets, but they meet at the hideout anyway. To discuss potential next moves, talk about Mementos, all that.

Akira realizes how hard it is not to look at Yusuke during these meetings. How much he wants to. He tries to listen to Ryuji’s questions about the huge communal Palace, tries to focus on Morgana’s explanations and conjectures.

He doesn’t hear a word. Hopefully it isn’t necessary information.

Several minutes in, he realizes Ann is looking at him. No, _studying_ him. Shit, she’s probably noticed something, Akira thinks, even if she hasn’t figured out what yet. Nice. He might be in for an interrogation later. He’s got to figure out how to keep his cool until he can get back to Leblanc.

“Seems like we’ll have to wait for Mishima to get back to us about another target, then,” Morgana’s saying. “Unless Akira has any leads for us.”

Everyone looks to Akira, and he really wishes he hadn’t _just_ tuned into the conversation. “Uh, nope. Not right now.”

Morgana’s eyes stay on Akira’s for a second longer than necessary. “Well, in that case, looks like that’s it for this meeting.”

“Let us know if Mishima has any news, ’kay?” Ann says to Akira. The look on her face says _Tell us if something’s going on—and I know something’s going on._

He wants to tell her it’s got nothing to do with her, but that might not come across quite right. Still, he doesn’t want to tell her what’s been going through his head. That might not come across right either.

 

* * *

 

Claiming a long night of studying ahead, Akira carefully sidesteps the few requests he gets to meet up the next afternoon and heads to the Shibuya underground. There, he finds Yusuke standing in his normal spot.

Akira admires him from a distance for a while. He understands why Yusuke finds people-watching so entertaining—now not just because of the hundreds of people passing by him, the hundreds of conversations he hears, but because, well. He can see _Yusuke_ from here. And he kind of can’t stop looking.

Yusuke is . . . elegant. He looks like a statue in the midst of Shibuya’s chaos. He is long and lean and lovely, and so still.

Akira walks to him and asks if he’ll come to Leblanc for the evening.

“I don’t see any reason why not,” Yusuke says with a shy smile.

 

* * *

 

They sit across from one another at one of the booths, twin cups of coffee sitting at the end of their table. Sojiro’s made it for them. He has years of experience on Akira, anyway. Yusuke unloads two smaller paintings from a bag and lays the first out on the table, careful to keep anything on the table from contaminating the canvas.

At first glance, it’s chaos. Shades of gray dominate the painting, except where splashes of red take over. A lone figure in black stands in the center of everything, his coat pushed away from him by some phantom wind and his edges blurred. He looks like Akira’s physical shadow. The image, in Akira’s mind, resolves into Mementos.

“What do you think?” Yusuke asks.

Akira tells him it reminds him of Mementos. That the figure in the center reminds him of the Phantom Thieves.

“Of course.” Yusuke smiles, closes his eyes. “I was thinking of that when I painted it. But were you to judge it with no context, what would your conclusions be?”

Akira studies the painting for a moment, carefully tracking each line, each shape. “It gives me this feeling,” he says, his eyes meeting Yusuke’s and then fluttering shut, “like we’re in a Palace. We’ve been running for a while, and we’re tired, and suddenly we stand outside the doorway of a room crawling with Shadows. Something like that.”

“So you’re anxious,” Yusuke concludes in a quiet voice. He looks into Akira’s eyes and, finding the answer there, reaches across the table to take Akira’s hand. Akira searches the café for Sojiro, but he’s vanished. Probably cleaning up, putting supplies away for the night. It’s nearly closing time.

“It’s manageable,” Akira says in a low voice. “When everyone else is there. It’s . . . familiar.”

“Good,” Yusuke says. “If there’s anything more I can do to help, please, tell me. Otherwise . . . I am glad this painting elicits some sort of feeling.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Akira sights Sojiro’s shadow on the opposite side of the café, and he squeezes Yusuke’s hand before letting go. “What about the other one?”

Yusuke’s expression is set, focused, as he sets the other canvas out on the table. “This one, I hope, is much different.”

It is. The colors are much cooler, more muted, the lines softer, like the shore at dusk. The painting is entirely abstract this time, with no recognizable figures. Yet it’s much more calming than the dark, twisting spaces of Mementos depicted in the first painting.

Akira voices his agreement, tells Yusuke that he doesn’t think he has the authority to criticize. Yusuke just nods.

“But the feeling you get from this one,” he says. “How would you describe it?”

“Calm,” Akira tells him. “There’s not much of that with the Phantom Thieves.”

“No, I suppose there isn’t,” Yusuke says. “But that’s why I’m thankful you keep letting me come back to Leblanc.” He smiles faintly. Akira’s glad Sojiro can’t see him from that angle, because there’s no misreading that expression.

“What about the other painting?” Akira asks, feeling as if he’s trying to catch his breath. “The one you’ve been working on here?”

Of course, the thought brings him back to the night that Yusuke painted all evening and Akira studied, and Yusuke nearly fell asleep on his way out. The night they slept side by side.

“I’ll show it to you later.” Yusuke’s voice is low, barely audible above the noise of the café. His eyes are intense again, darker than midnight. “I want you to see it before anyone else.”

Once the last of the evening’s customers have filtered out, Akira tells Sojiro they’ve got some more studying to do, and Sojiro leaves, reminding them both to stay out of trouble even with one foot out the door.

Yusuke strides to the far side of the café while Akira flips the sign on the door to _Closed._

“Akira,” he hears Yusuke say in almost a whisper. “Come here.”

Akira obeys.

He stops when he sees the painting. Blinks. He doesn’t know what to say.

Yusuke has indeed painted Leblanc. The café’s low light, the silhouettes of patrons. It’s overflowing with detail—the coffee pots, the kitchen equipment, the bar stools, the worn wood—and yet somehow it still manages to remain subtle. Not overwhelming. And then there’s Akira, standing at the counter in his usual outfit and apron. He has a coffee mug in his hand, and his face is angled down. He’s absorbed in his work.

 _You look magnificent,_ Yusuke had said to him.

“What do you think?” Yusuke asks now. He looks nervous.

“This is amazing,” Akira breathes. “How did you do this?”

Yusuke directs an almost blank look back at him. As if he doesn’t know how he did it. “I,” he begins. Hesitates. “I just watched the café for a while. I held everything in my mind, and then—” He gestures to the canvas. “I—I don’t know. I’m sorry. That wasn’t an adequate explanation at all.”

“No, it’s fine,” Akira says. Yusuke looks flustered, and Akira just wants to lean closer to him. Wants to brush lips against his cheekbone. Imagines the warmth of his skin and then can’t seem to shake the phantom feeling.

He tells himself not tonight, but a different voice in his head is shouting _Yes, tonight._

He reaches out to Yusuke, frames his face with one hand, strokes his cheekbone with a thumb, softly. As if Yusuke is the true work of art and time has stopped in Akira’s admiration.

Yet Yusuke freezes. His face is flushed, his lips parted—but his eyes are wide, fearful. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Do you . . . want to go upstairs?” Akira asks.

Yusuke closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath.

“Yes.”

He clings to Akira’s hand as Akira leads them up the stairs. He’s shaking. Akira can feel it. He stops them at the last step.

“If you don’t want to do this,” Akira begins.

Yusuke kisses him.

At first it’s barely a brush of lips, Yusuke’s fingertips tracing gentle patterns along Akira’s jaw. Akira leans forward to kiss him back, the same, brief and careful. Yusuke draws him closer, his fingers threading into Akira’s hair, and Akira rewards him with a series of slow, open-mouthed kisses.

Yusuke pulls away, gasping for breath, clearly unsure what to do with his hands, with his mouth. He’s still tense. Akira pushes him back, gently, as if asking permission. Yusuke nods slightly. His back is up against the wall in the next moment, as Akira weaves their fingers together, holding Yusuke’s hands hostage while he continues to kiss him. Yusuke moans softly. His voice, to Akira, is like music.

After a few moments, Akira releases Yusuke’s hands, letting his own hands drift to Yusuke’s waist and bending to press his mouth to Yusuke’s collarbone. To his surprise, Yusuke tips his head back to give him better access.

Akira pushes up the hem of Yusuke’s shirt, but when his hands brush skin, Yusuke protests, fingers snapping around his wrist.

At this, Akira looks up.

“Not yet,” Yusuke whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Akira takes both his hands, weaves their fingers together. “It’s fine.”

Yusuke swallows. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how . . .”

Akira feels his lips curve into a smile. “You don’t have to know how,” he says. “You just have to tell me when to stop.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to stay the night this time?”

He can see Yusuke wavering. “I—well, yes, of course I want to, but I shouldn’t. I don’t want anyone to find out.”

“Sojiro won’t be here again tonight,” Akira says. “So unless you’re worried about getting back to your dorm in the morning, I don’t think it’s a problem.”

Too late, he remembers the warning in Ann’s eyes. If anyone suspects, it’s her. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz in his pocket recently, though, so he doubts she’s tried to contact him. Yet.

“Then if you don’t mind,” Yusuke says finally.

Akira leans in again, one hand cupping the back of Yusuke’s neck.

 

* * *

 

They don’t go too far, not tonight, but Akira learns a few things about Yusuke in the hours that they spend awake.

He learns, for instance, that Yusuke doesn’t know how to hold back. And he hopes he never has to, because Yusuke’s voice is lovely.

His hands occasionally brush Yusuke’s hips or waist or chest, and he calculates, based on Yusuke’s reactions, which of these places will receive his attention when he someday convinces Yusuke to undress.

In the times when Yusuke loses his breath or Akira starts to feel tired, they lie side-by-side on Akira’s futon and talk, their voices near whispers and their conversations scattered. Akira asks what living at Kosei is like. Yusuke asks what the atmosphere at Shujin is like—and when Akira answers, Yusuke hums and closes his eyes, like he’s painting a mental picture. Neither drifts off into sleep for a long time, even after night has fallen completely.

“What are we going to tell the others?” Yusuke asks after a long silence.

“We don’t have to tell them anything.” Akira has thought about this time after time, and he still can’t imagine approaching any of the other members of the Phantom Thieves with the information that he and Yusuke are . . . seeing each other? Dating? He doesn’t even know what he would say. Besides, it would be awkward, he thinks, a distraction amid their goals.

Then again, Ann already knows something’s up. What would it take for the others to find out, too?

“If it ever comes up, we can deal with it,” Akira says. “Otherwise . . . it doesn’t matter.”

“What we are to each other won’t change, whether the others know or not,” Yusuke says with certainty, eyes closed, a small smile on his lips.

Akira leans over him to press a soft kiss to those lips. There, he thinks, as Yusuke lets out a small appreciative sound. That’s better.

 

* * *

 

One afternoon, Ann offers to take Akira out for tea.

“No, that’s okay,” Akira says. “We’ve got exams coming up, and I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“I’ll be fine! And I have some spare cash, so I can pay, don’t worry,” Ann answers with that usual carefree grin. “Come on, it’s not like we have a Palace to take care of or anything. We’re going! Tell the others you have plans!”

Akira can’t help but nod at this. Her enthusiasm is catching and too hard to refuse.

Minutes later, they sit across from one another at a café, where Ann orders tea for both of them. As soon as the waitress leaves, Ann leans across the table, setting her chin on her hand. “Okay, Akira-kun, who is she?”

Akira feels his face warm immediately, all the way to the tips of his ears. He should have expected it, because it’s Ann _,_ but for some reason he didn’t think she’d be so _direct._ “N-no one,” he stammers, unprepared to answer.

“Akira! I’ve seen you zoning out way too many times lately for her to be _no one_. You’ve really got it for someone, I can tell. Have I met her? Does she go to Shujin?” Ann asks, grinning. Her eyes widen. “Oh my god, is she one of us? Is she a Phantom Thief?”

“It’s not . . .” Akira begins.

“Don’t say it’s not like that! C’mon, you _have_ to tell me. Aren’t we friends?” Ann pouts.

Damn, she’s convincing, but Akira doesn’t know how to tell her about Yusuke. He’s saved from having to answer immediately by the waitress showing up again with their tea.

“Thank you!” Ann chirps, before taking a sip and turning right back to their conversation as though they haven’t been interrupted at all. “Okay, spill.”

Akira sighs, one hand going absently to the back of his neck. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to say anything.”

When he looks back up at her, he sees that her eyes have widened again. “Oh my god, really? Why? Is she too old for you or something?”

“Because,” Akira says, pausing for a moment as he wonders if he’s actually going to say it. No, he’s not going to say it. Yes, he has to say it, otherwise he’ll just dig himself an even deeper hole. He doesn’t want this conversation hanging over him for an eternity. “You know him.”

It takes Ann a second to process this. “Ohhh,” she finally says. “I get it. Wait, if I _know_ him, can you tell me who it is?” At the look on Akira’s face, she adds, “Please? I really won’t hold it against you, I promise.”

Akira presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. He’s pretty sure telling her about Yusuke is the worst-case scenario. He should probably just lie and say it’s another boy from their class. Say he’s too embarrassed to share. Say the other boy hasn’t taken notice of him anyway.

“. . . Is it Yusuke?”

This catches Akira off guard, and his head snaps up. He makes eye contact with Ann again, and he’s sure his own eyes are wide, this time. How did she figure it out so fast, if she initially thought the other person was a girl? How long has she known?

“You were looking at him,” Ann says. “I noticed, but I thought maybe you were thinking about someone else. I mean, I did think there was a possibility that you were interested in Yusuke, but I wasn’t sure.” Ann laughs. “And I can’t read Yusuke for shit. I wouldn’t have known if he was interested in you or just thought you were pretty as a subject for another one of his paintings.”

Akira has to laugh at this, too, though he can feel his face warming again.

“So . . . did you tell him?” Ann asks.

“Yeah.”

Ann claps her hands. “You did? So are you dating now?”

“More or less,” Akira says. He kind of can’t believe he’s having this conversation.

“Have you . . .” Ann lowers her voice, but it’s clear her curiosity hasn’t diminished in the least. “Have you kissed him?” When Akira doesn’t respond, she grins and smacks the table with the palm of her hand. “Oh, come on, Akira! I had to ask.”

“And I’m not answering that,” Akira replies, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a no-win for me either way.”

Ann laughs. “What do you mean? I’m happy for you regardless.”

“You don’t think it’ll be awkward? Since we’re both working as Phantom Thieves?” Akira lowers his voice almost to a whisper to say this last part, just in case anyone near them happens to be listening to the conversation.

“It’ll only be awkward if you make it awkward,” Ann asserts. “But it is Yusuke Kitagawa we’re talking about. . . .”

“Not helpful,” Akira groans.

 

* * *

 

When Yusuke stays at Leblanc the next time, he waits until Sojiro leaves to say what’s on his mind. He’s been quiet and distant, saying little and sipping his coffee. When Akira sits down next to him, letting their knees touch, Yusuke finally looks up. There’s meaning in his eyes.

“Akira,” he says. “I need to speak to you about something.”

“What is it?” Akira asks quietly. He half wants to lean in and kiss Yusuke again, but he can’t bear to distract Yusuke, not when he has such a pensive look on his face. He waits.

“I want . . .” Yusuke hesitates. “Can I . . . draw you?”

“You painted me in that picture of Leblanc,” Akira points out, gently. “Why do you need to ask?”

“Because,” Yusuke says. It’s a long time before he speaks again, and Akira’s just begun to wonder if that’s his answer, if he’d just been a little bit nervous about it, when Yusuke continues. His voice is light as air, quiet as tiptoeing. “I have to ask you to undress.”

“ _What?_ ” The word slips out before Akira can stop it, and he tries to dial it back. “In here?”

“Well, the café _is_ closed—”

Akira’s head is spinning. He looks toward the windows in the front of the café. He can still see the fear on Yusuke’s face if he closes his eyes, the trepidation at the idea of going too far. And yet he feels that same shaky apprehension himself when he imagines Yusuke studying his exposed skin with those ocean-deep eyes, that artist’s intensity.

“You don’t have to take off _all_ your clothes,” Yusuke says, bringing Akira’s gaze back to him. “I-I think just your shirt would be fine.”

Akira laughs, a breathy, relieved sound. “I’m still going to be just as nervous,” he says.

“I’m sure you look beautiful,” Yusuke answers, standing up from the table and collecting his sketchbook, and Akira flushes.

They go up to his room again, and Akira pulls out a couple of chairs, one for himself and one for Yusuke, who sets his sketchbook down but doesn’t sit. “Do you want help?” he asks Akira.

The room feels incredibly warm, but Akira’s hands are shaking and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to undo the buttons on his uniform jacket without making a fool of himself. “Yes,” he says. “Please.”

Yusuke closes the distance between them and sets to work immediately. His eyes already have that closed-off intent, that deep concentration in them, the same as the day Akira caught Yusuke watching him while he was painting Leblanc. Akira’s heart thunders to life in his chest, racing so hard and fast that he’s certain Yusuke can feel it.

He watches those artist’s hands undo the buttons on his uniform jacket, those slender fingers hook around the material. Yusuke pauses and looks up at him, and Akira is certain that his nerves are getting the better of him, that Yusuke is going to ask if he wants to stop, but he doesn’t.

He says, “Akira, do you need further help?”

Akira nods, and Yusuke slides his hands over his shoulders, taking the uniform jacket with it. Akira wears only a white sweater underneath, one that he should have been able to make quick work of himself, but he slips off his glasses and lets Yusuke touch him instead.

Yusuke’s hands stumble as they work their way under the hem of Akira’s shirt, moving flat against his skin, his chest, over the feverish flutter of his heart. Akira raises his arms to let Yusuke pull the shirt over his head, and Yusuke does. The motion ruffles Akira’s hair, though, and Yusuke smiles at the sight of it, reaching up to smooth down the unruly spots while still holding Akira’s sweater in one hand.

“Are you all right?” Yusuke asks, his eyes flicking down for a heartbeat to Akira’s chest. His hands clutch the material of Akira’s sweater in front of him.

“I’m fine,” Akira says with a nod.

He’s not. His heart is still pounding with an intensity that catches him off guard, and his whole body feels warm, and Yusuke is _right there_. The fact that Yusuke is going to be watching him with his sharp artist’s eyes makes him even more nervous. Maybe everything would be easier if they were just touching.

“Then, we should sit.” Yusuke folds up the sweater and places it on top of Akira’s uniform jacket, on the floor. He picks up his sketchbook and sits down, and Akira copies. “Would you turn a little to your left?”

They spend a while like this, Akira sitting straight and still while Yusuke sketches. To Akira it feels like an eternity. Every time Yusuke’s eyes catch the curve of his shoulders or the flat pane of his stomach, he feels his heart skip a beat. Every time Yusuke shifts his gaze back to his sketchbook, Akira feels curiosity coiled within him, and he finds himself watching Yusuke draw. When Yusuke finally finishes, Akira lets out a long sigh, as if he’s been holding his breath.

“I feel as though I should reward you first,” Yusuke says, standing and setting his sketchbook back on the chair. He steps closer to Akira, bends down, and kisses him.

It’s their first kiss in a long time, and it’s by far the sweetest. Yusuke’s lips are soft against his. His hand slides into Akira’s hair, his fingers pulling gently at the strands. Akira responds with a low moan of satisfaction.

“I told you,” Yusuke whispers. “You’re beautiful, Akira.”

Akira pulls him closer. Their kisses become heated and more desperate, and Akira’s hands are clutching handfuls of Yusuke’s shirt when Yusuke finally pushes him away gently.

“I’m sorry,” Akira says as Yusuke smoothes out his shirt. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s all right.” A small smile forms on Yusuke’s lips. “It’s only that I don’t want to go too far. Do you want your sweater back?”

Akira tells him yes, even though part of him wants to feel Yusuke’s hands on his skin again. He takes the sweater from Yusuke, pulling it back over his head and scrubbing out the tangles in his hair. Yusuke waits until he’s finished to turn the sketchbook toward him.

Akira blinks. He feels as if his overworked heart has finally stopped. Yusuke has rendered a near-perfect portrait of him, looking off into the distance as if lost in thought, shadows falling across his shoulders. It’s almost like looking into a mirror, but finding a preoccupied version of himself there, one who’s not quite paying attention.

“Yusuke,” he whispers. “How?”

“You were a brilliant subject,” Yusuke says. He closes the sketchbook and puts it down. “Thank you.”

“I’d do it again,” Akira answers, and he means it, wholeheartedly.

 

* * *

 

Tonight, they sit together on Akira’s futon, shoulders touching, pressing soft kisses to each other’s lips and jaws and shoulders. The mood is calm, nothing like the sudden passion Akira had expressed earlier, and as the minutes tick by, it becomes gradually sleepy. Yusuke rests his head on Akira’s shoulder, and Akira asks him if he needs to stay the night again.

“No, I’ll be fine. I can make it to the station,” Yusuke says. “You should stay here. You’re the leader of the Phantom Thieves, after all. You need your rest.”

“You don’t have to walk there by yourself,” Akira protests.

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Yusuke rises, pulling himself away from Akira and leaving a vestige of warmth where his body had been just a heartbeat earlier. Akira wants to pull him back already, but he knows that for now, he has to let Yusuke go. They’ll see each other soon.

“Someday I’ll draw all of you,” Yusuke whispers, pressing his lips to Akira’s forehead.

Akira smiles faintly.

“Someday,” he agrees.


End file.
